


The Noble Experiment

by Doctor Caduceus (Lemniscate)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemniscate/pseuds/Doctor%20Caduceus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1922, and Sylar is a hitman hired to take Doctor Suresh for a drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Noble Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> Note: While it doesn't constitute a non-con/Rape warning in my opinion, the inherent power differential in the situation could be considered dub-con. It is not intended to be, but I want to be fair as other opinions may vary.
> 
> Pinch written for an exchange for an LJ user who no longer exists. Cheers to [](http://moorishflower.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://moorishflower.livejournal.com/)**moorishflower** for the beta.

  
"Half up front," Flint, Petrelli's goon, said, tossing a carpet bag at the tall man's feet. "Other half is buried in the desert. You can have Pocahontas dig it up and then toss his corpse in the hole."

Sylar glanced up from making his quick count of the money.

"'Pocahontas'?" he asked. Flint rolled his eyes.

"He's an Injun, stupid," he said, hooting and patting his lips with his palm. It was Sylar's turn to roll his eyes.

"Well I hope you found out what tribe," he replied tersely.

"I dunno. What's it matter?" Flint answered, lighting up a cigarette.

"Because," Sylar answered, an edge of false anger adding to his ruse. "There are whole _tribes_ that can steal your soul. Leave you a walking corpse if you don't kill 'em just right. You wouldn't want that to happen to me, would you Flint?"

Flint snorted.

"Even I ain't that dumb," he snapped, though he fidgeted from foot to foot in a way that suggested he just might not be completely sure. Sylar smirked quietly to himself and sharpened a long, thin knife made of glass.

"So why aren't they having you do this one, Flint?" Sylar asked, examining the edge of the blade. "I hear you're a flashy kind of guy. I'm not flashy. I'm the guy you call when you don't want anyone to know 'who done it.' I'm the guy you call when you maybe want it to just look like an accident, or sickness. You're the guy they call when they want an example made, and when someone's moving in on his turf, you want an example."

Flint shrugged.

"Maybe I cost more than you," Flint muttered. Sylar gave him a withering look.

"Shut up," Flint said, smacking a folder to the table where Sylar sharpened his knife. Sylar flicked it open with the tip of the blade, revealing a page with an address- where he would find his target- and a map to the rest of the money, a spot in the desert marked where Sylar would bury the poor bastard. Then, of course, the obligatory photograph. Sylar picked it up in his right hand and sighed.

"This picture is horrible," he griped. "Why do I always get pictures that look like a drunk kid shot them on Petrelli jobs?"

"Ya ain't killed the wrong one yet," Flint whined back. "Curly haired Injun. You find two, kill 'em both. You've got a week."

"Thanks for stopping by," Sylar muttered to Flint's retreating back as he squinted at the fuzzy picture of the target.

He'd stolen the roadster off a rum runner he'd killed and dumped in the swamps in Louisiana. It was perfect- big fuel tank and plenty fast, good for long runs to dump bodies, good for running from the Feds. This was a California job, which meant no swamps or 'gators, but tar pits and desert instead. The desert sun combined with the hot sand flayed bones and bleached them white, vultures picking at whatever flesh was left.

This new bootlegger- Suresh- was a bold son of a bitch, Sylar realized as he cased the neighborhood around the target address. This was a ritzy part of town, sound stages and movie studios, palm trees and starlets. You wanted to cook up gin, you did it in a warehouse, in a bathtub, not under everybody's noses. Suresh was crazy or stupid. Or crazy _and_ stupid.

Stupid people were easy to kill, crazy people much the same, but far more likely to take you with them.

The building itself was a warehouse, blended right in with the soundstages and storehouses for sets and props, and was much nicer than the run down bars these gigs usually took place in. Sylar crept up the fire escape and up onto the roof, into the warehouse catwalks.

It didn't _quite_ seem right. The place was well lit, bright floodlights everywhere. Fermentation liked the dark and the cool; anyone who looked up would be blinded and not see him. Damned if it wasn't sweltering though. Sylar tugged off his jacket and loosened the skinny black tie around his neck, undoing his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. It didn't smell right.

He'd have to apologize to Suresh for killing him looking frumpy. He hated being unprofessional.

It was hard to spot the curls from so high up in the rafters- all dark hair looked the same, essentially- but the white lab coat gave him away. Everyone else was in jumpsuits, so his target stood out in crisp white among the rest. Sweat began to bead at the nape of Sylar's neck as he tracked him through the room, sliding free of his skin before he could catch it. He held his breath as Suresh flinched, touching the place where the moisture had landed on his own neck.

"We'll need to get the roof looked at," Sylar just barely heard a lilting English voice say. "I think we have a leak."

Sylar held his breath, remaining perfectly still as Suresh continued to work, occasionally glancing up to the ceiling with a squint. Eventually, the other workers broke for lunch, but Suresh remained, examining samples through a microscope. Sylar slunk down to ground level and crept up silently behind him.

"Hate to interrupt," he said. Suresh jumped, hands flailing out to catch the microscope he'd upset before spinning on his stool to see Sylar.

"You and I have business, I'm afraid," Sylar said regretfully. He always endeavored to sound sympathetic, but this time, he found he actually felt it. The target was a looker, and not the kind of Indian Flint has thought, not that that was any kind of surprise. He had curls that Clara Bow would've killed her own mother for, and eyes as big and dark and startled as a deer's.

"What?" Suresh asked. Pretty voice, too. Damned shame, really. Sylar stuck his hand out.

"Gabriel Sylar," he said. Suresh relaxed slightly, taking Sylar's hand.

"Mohinder Sure-_hey!_" Suresh's introduction turned into a yelp as Sylar spun him, twisting his arms behind his back and quickly and efficiently tying his forearms tightly together. "What the hell is the big idea?"

"I told you, business. The mob's not thrilled about your little operation, so it's time for us to take a little ride. I can't tell you how sorry I am about my appearance. Pretty toasty up there."

"The _mob?!_ But- mmph!"

Suresh's eyes blazed furiously as Sylar wound up a clean white handkerchief and wadded it in Suresh's mouth, tying it behind his head.

"Sorry toots, can't have you calling for the cavalry."

Sylar plunked Suresh back on the stool and picked up a beaker, sniffing it.

"What the hell are you brewing anyway?" he asked, taking a sip. His eyebrows shot up as he coughed, and Suresh looked like he was about to hyperventilate.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Sylar wheezed. "I can't believe Big Artie is worried about this swill. This is some of the most god awful... blugh!"

Suresh was attempting to speak through the gag, but Sylar just shook his head, popping a cork in the beaker and sticking it in his jacket pocket.

"Might as well show him what you were up to. You know what they say, laughter, it's good for you."

He put a hand between Suresh's shoulder blades and guided him to his feet, gently leading the exasperated man out to the car and opening the passenger door, making sure his feet were clear before Sylar closed the door.

Really, if it hadn't been for the tying up, it would've been a lot like a date, Sylar thought. He sat in the driver's seat and pulled out the map.

"Mm. Sun'll be up soon, don't want any of the locals seeing a tied up pretty boy in my car. They'll think I'm hard up for affection. Tell you what. We'll go to a nice hotel, do the last meal thing, get going tomorrow night. Won't that be nice?"

Suresh gave Sylar a withering look.

"I think so too," Sylar grinned. He started the car and reached over, tipping Suresh sideways so that his head was in Sylar's lap. "It's not that I'm ashamed to be seen with you, I just can't have our plans disrupted."

Sylar gave Suresh's cheek a pat, twitching his hips as he got comfortable in the seat, smirking at the outraged noise that came from the man as Sylar's cock hardened in his trousers.

"Swell," he chuckled, and drove off.

The [Hollywood Hotel](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hollywood_Hotel) was a nice joint. Sylar stayed there on the odd occasion, downtime between jobs. They made a hell of an ice cream sundae. He parked the car out in a darkened section of the parking lot.

"Don't go anywhere, toots, I'll be back in a sec," he said with a smile, lifting Suresh up so that he could get out, then plunked him back to the driver's seat, sauntering off to the check in desk

"Hey there chief," Sylar said to the concierge. "Could you help me out? I've got a little bearcat in the car that I've been stuck on for months, and I finally got her to step out with me. She percolates too long in the car and she's gonna change her mind- can I get a room out of the way, you know… nice and quiet?"

He signed in under an assumed name, something nice and generic, and swept away with the key. Suresh had managed to sit upright and was trying to pry the necktie from around his wrists with the parking break.

"What's eating you?" Sylar smiled, leaning against the car. Suresh glowered at him taking his hands and waiting with exasperated impatience for Sylar to get done being funny and go wherever they were going next.

"C'mon," Sylar grinned, sliding back into his seat and starting the car, pulling it over to the side of the hotel where there room was. "I got us a nice room, room service at this joint makes great ice cream sundaes."

Getting out, he opened the passenger door and tugged Suresh to his feet, leaning him against the wall before unlocking the room and opening the door. A huge grin spread across his face.

"Now this is a swanky room," he said, tugging Suresh in and giving him a shove to seat him on the pink satin bedspread on the big round bed. He locked the door, sticking a chair under the knob for good measure, and untied Suresh's wrists. "Hmm. What am I gonna do about this…?"

He wrapped an arm around Suresh's chest and tugged him back to the headboard, tying Suresh's wrists around the bedpost. Sylar narrowed his eyes.

"You know… you seem like a kicker," he mused, and nabbed Suresh's feet. He removed each shoe, tossing them across the room, and then tugged his own belt off. Suresh's eyes went wide, his chest puffing up with air. Sylar gave him a pitying look.

"You're breaking my heart, toots," he chuckled, using the belt to tie up Suresh's feet and lash them to the footboard. "There we go! Comfy?"

He lay partly over Suresh, undoing the gag behind his head and removing it.

"Are you insane?" Suresh spat, flexing his jaw and licking his dry lips in a way that had Sylar driven to distraction, still sitting as he was straddled on his captive.

"Sorry, toots," Sylar said finally. "Big Artie paid good money for you to go for a drive. What were you thinking, trying to muscle in on the mob's turf?"

"I _work_ for Arthur Petrelli, you fool!" Suresh railed, twisting against the bonds on his wrists. Sylar grunted softly as the friction of Suresh's struggle was particularly interesting to his groin, his cock hardening.

"I've got two G's in small bills in that bag and another two out in the desert that say you've been axed, doll," Sylar said, surprising himself with how regretful he sounded. "You wouldn't be the first fella who thought he was sitting pretty who got a visit from me."

"So why haven't you killed me?" Suresh asked.

"I hate digging," Sylar shrugged. "And I don't want to get blood in my car."

Suresh swallowed. This was new ground for Sylar, usually he kept his targets gagged and shoved them in a closet or in the trunk 'til it was time to get down to business. Yet here he was, acting for all the world like he was stuck on Mohinder Suresh.

"Will it be quick?" Suresh asked quietly. Sylar looked startled.

"Um... yeah."

"How will you do it?"

"I'm not sure it's-"

"Just tell me!" Suresh shouted.

"Shh shh shh," Sylar replied, gently petting his hair. "I'm good at it, I promise. There's an artery here," he reached back and touched Suresh's ankles, "here," he touched the pulse point at his neck, "and at the wrists. Quick, quick sticks, and it's over in seconds, you won't feel a thing."

Suresh snorted.

"Oh? And which dead man gave you the good review? How would you know if it hurts?"

Sylar gave him a sad little smile.

"Because I never look away. C'mon. Last meal. Whatever you want."

Sylar found the room service menu in a bedside table drawer and opened it, sitting back on Suresh's thighs.

"You get the kind of freedom that only the condemned get, Mohinder Suresh. What do you wanna do with it?"

Suresh gave him a funny look, real funny, and asked:

"Why are you being so kind about this?" Sylar shrugged.

"I can't be the first person who's turned into a sap over you. There a missus I'm making a widow? Girlfriend maybe?"

"I'm not the marrying type," Suresh replied, squirming. "Would you get off of me, please?"

"Looker like you?" Sylar asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm surprised."

"Please get off me," Suresh repeated, blood darkening his cheeks further. Sylar grinned, mouth forming a coy little 'oh' of feigned shock.

"Confirmed bachelor, huh?" Sylar grinned, setting the menu on the mattress, and placing his hands on either side of Suresh's shoulders.

"I'm fairly certain when one is a dead man walking that it really doesn't matter who one fancies," Suresh retorted. "Get off me."

"Who's walking?" Sylar asked. "All I see is two confirmed bachelors getting a little cozy."

Suresh narrowed his eyes.

"I take back what I said about you being kind."

"I'll be so kind," Sylar said with an ever broadening grin. "I'll be a pussycat."

"Since when do pussycats fuck canaries before they eat them?" Suresh snarled, voice equal parts fury, arousal and despair.

"Since now," Sylar answered, pressing his lips to the thudding point on Suresh's neck, the one he'd open to end it all. "'Cause cage or no cage, claws or no claws, I'm the only one here to sing for, baby, and I am dying to hear you sing your heart out. Whaddaya say?"

Suresh squirmed, and something in his expression broke.

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes."

Sylar reached up, preparing to untie Suresh 's wrists.

"Don't," Suresh protested.

"Like this?" Sylar groaned, running his hand over Suresh's bound up wrists. "Baby, where have you been all my life?"

He tore at Suresh's clothes, yanking up his shirt and twisting around, undoing his belt from Suresh's ankles and tugging at Suresh's trousers, getting them free and tossing them away along with his underwear. Sylar got up and stripped away his own clothing, then stopped to catch his breath. That long body, slim and dark against the pink satin of the bedspread. He picked his belt back up and wrapped up Suresh's ankles again, picking up his bound feet and ducking his head through Suresh's legs. Sylar's fast tongue was just as fast with his mouth full, it turned out as he sucked Suresh's cock into his mouth, sucking long and slow.

"Oh gods," Suresh moaned. "We need something slick, oil, or—"

Sylar squirmed free and scrambled to the bathroom, digging through the bathroom cabinet. He glanced over at a swanky basket sitting on the towel rack and spying a bottle of lotion and reached for it.

The damn thing met him half way, in mid-air. Sylar's jaw dropped.

"How the—"

He glanced back over his shoulder. He only had 'til nightfall and then his kidnapped Cinderella was going to turn back into his target. He could figure it out after.

They were a sweaty, exhausted, achy mess by the time sunset came around again, twilight fading into darkness. Sylar went and checked out, leaving Suresh sitting in the passenger seat of the car, wrists and ankles chafed, but free, with the carpet bag of the down payment on his death in his lap.

"Good day?" the desk clerk asked him with a sly smile. Sylar glanced towards the door, trying to take as long as he could.

"The best," Sylar answered. He left him a hefty tip and slowly strolled out the door.

"God damn it," Sylar swore. Suresh was still sitting, right where he'd left him. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

Suresh gave him a cool, appraising look.

"If you don't want to shoot me, all you have to do is say so, but I'm far too sore to go for a run right now."

Sylar rolled his eyes and got into the driver's seat.

"I'm not gonna shoot you, I told you!" He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the glass knife. "See? Nothing sharper."

Suresh narrowed his eyes.

"What sort of self respecting mobster doesn't use a gun?" he asked scathingly.

"I am _not_ a mobster," Sylar retorted, putting the knife away and starting the car. "I'm an assassin."

"Of course you are," Suresh answered.

"Keep razzin' me, sweetheart," Sylar grumbled. They bickered like an old married couple the whole way to the desert, even arguing about how to read the map and use the compass to find the money.

"Oh for… all right," Sylar said, finding an "X" of pebbles out on the ground. He stalked back to the car, tugged a shovel out of the trunk, and shoved it into Suresh's hands.

"And just what the hell is this?" Suresh replied.

"Start digging!" Sylar answered.

"Are you bloody serious?"

"I told you, I hate to dig!" Sylar snapped, sitting on the bumper.

"What's eating you?" Suresh asked, starting to dig.

"Why aren't you running? Or begging? Or scared?" Sylar asked. "It doesn't make a goddamn bit of sense."

"I have my reasons," Suresh said. "What am I digging for?"

"Another bag of money," Sylar grumbled.

"You know, why not go with a locker at the bus station?" Suresh sighed.

"Just dig the damn hole."

Suresh started singing himself a little song as he dug, eventually dragging up a bag and tossing it on the ground, about chest deep in the hole he'd dug.

"Swell," Sylar sighed. Mohinder idly reached up and opened the bag.

"You must really like socks. Or murder," he mused. Sylar got up and looked in the bag. Piles and piles of socks.

"What the hell is this shit!" Sylar groaned, dumping out the socks. One of them was a little odd, and just like the bottle of lotion, it flew to his hand as he reached for it. "FG?"

Sylar thought for a moment.

"Fucking _FLINT!_" he snarled.

"Flint? Flint Gordon?" Suresh asked. "Help me out."

Sylar stuck his hand down and helped tug his dirtied-up target out of the hole.

"You know Flint?" he asked.

"I told you, I work for Arthur Petrelli!" Suresh exclaimed. "He was always at the warehouse, I just assumed he was there to check on me until… oh. You don't suppose he might've… he did ask if I wanted to… _ohhhh._"

"Great," Sylar said. "Another confirmed bachelor. Well I sure as hell don't kill people for free, and if I had to kill everyone that shot down Flint, I'd never get any sleep."

Sylar gave him a look.

"You knew. You _knew_ that something was gonna happen and I wasn't gonna kill you."

"Whoever counterfeited your money for Flint apparently didn't know that there's no 'k' in Lincoln," Suresh said, pulling one of the fives out of his pocket.

"Son of a bitch," Sylar sighed.

"Still going to kill me?" Suresh smirked. Sylar rolled his eyes.

"You got four grand and a death wish?" he glanced over at the hole and the shovel flew from the grave of Flint's socks to his hand. "That keeps happening!"

Suresh raised his eyebrows.

"It works!"

"_What_ works?!" Sylar asked, tossing the shovel into the trunk.

"The serum you drank at the warehouse," Suresh said. "It wasn't moonshine. It was my own brand of snake oil that lets people do special things."

"Huh," Sylar answered. He glanced at the bag, raising a finger and making a gesture. A slit opened up in the fabric. "Well. I guess I don't need knives anymore."

"Apparently not. That's amazing," Suresh said. "So… what now?"

Sylar pulled out the vial of the serum he was going to show Big Artie for a laugh.

"Even confirmed bachelors gotta settle down sometime," he smiled. "Whaddaya say, sweetheart? You and me? Mister No-Knives and Mister…"

He uncorked the vial and held it out to Suresh.

"I guess there's only one way to find out," Suresh replied. "Bottoms up."

He tipped the vial to his lips, swallowed, and gave Sylar a kiss. Sylar wrapped an arm around his waist and smiled.

"Best job I ever took."


End file.
